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Julian chuckled. He was hot stuff. Just a week (a week? It seemed like 24,601 years!) ago, he had been sure that he would never fall in love, that he would resist the taunts of his friends and remain virginal for the Republic. Any passion he felt was directed towards his mission impossible: to lead the people of France into revolution and thereby annoy his parents. One week, and he felt like he had a second chance at life.

He turned his sultry eyes toward the love of his life, Danielle: that surprisingly strong yet beautiful girl he had once tried to forbid from joining the Amis de l'ABC.

“Want to start a revolution?” he murmured softly. “Even that annoying artillery sergeant could not keep me from you. A love like ours is stronger than both of us.”

Waiting alone in the now-familiar confines of the drawing room, with the shouts of the street hawkers wafting in from outside, Belinda, even lovelier - if possible - in her grief, thought once more of tall Captain Wentworth, the man who had taught her how to feel. He was now, according to Countess Genevieve, studying medicine in Zurich with Dr. Frankenstein.

Then came a knock at the door, and she leapt to her feet with hope - and alarm - in her eyes. He was here!

"Come to me, my darling!" he said quietly, dropping her lost jewel into her outstretched palm.

As he once again began to woo her with the sensual voice of his Stradivarius, she wondered if this would be a good time to remind him about the bailiffs waiting in the alley.

Volunteering to collect donations for a charity called. ‘Homeless Christmas Goblins’, you vow only to eat food that you can farm; meaning Christmas dinner is hamsters and marijuana. Due to the mistake of revealing your holiday plans to relatives, they plot to destroy your genes. Because of this, you are fired at the end of a holiday text message and a powerful Deity decides to smite you with poor E-bay feedback and a creepy dating rating.

Once upon a time, there were three Snarfleblasts; the mother Snarfleblasts, the father Snarfleblasts and the baby Snarfleblasts who lived in a house in the backwoods of Venus. One morning the mother Snarfleblasts made liquefied man juice for breakfast. When the three Snarfleblasts sat at the table to eat, they found that the liquefied man juice was too hot.

"Let's go for a walk to red iced polar caps," the mother Snarfleblasts said. "The liquefied man juice will be cool enough to eat when we return." So off they went.

Nearby, Juju Logi was walking in the backwoods of Venus.

"I've been walking such a long time, and I'm tired and hungry," Juju Logi said. Just then, Juju Logi saw the three Snarfleblasts's house. "Maybe there is something to eat in there," Juju Logi said, and went inside.

Juju Logi saw the food on the table, and decided to try it. First Juju Logi tried the father Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice but it was too hot. Then Juju Logi tried the mother Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice but it was too cold. But the baby Snarfleblasts's liquefied man juice was just right, and Juju Logi ate it all up.

"My goodness I'm sleepy," Juju Logi, said entering the bedroom. Juju Logi sat on the father Snarfleblasts's bed, but it was too hard. Juju Logi then sat on the mother Snarfleblasts's bed, but it was too soft. The baby Snarfleblasts's bed was just right, and Juju Logi fell asleep there.

In a short while, the three Snarfleblasts returned from red iced polar caps. "Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice!" said the father Snarfleblast.

Someone's been eating my liquefied man juice, and they at it all up!" cried the baby Snarfleblasts. They looked around the house to find who had done this. When they looked in the bedroom, they saw Juju Logi asleep on baby Snarfleblasts's bed. Just then, Juju Logi woke up, saw the three Snarfleblasts and screamed. The three Snarfleblasts tried to catch Juju Logi, but Juju Logi ran out of the backwoods of Venus and all the way home.

You won't believe it, but about a month ago in the woods behind my house. I was out for a walk when I realized that I wasn't wearing any clothes. You have probably had that experience before. I felt like a million dollars, and I knew that soon I would have to do something about it. My friend Emily had called me the previous day, and told me all about Michelle's problem with that stranger in town, and I was a little worried about what would happen. Then, all of a sudden, I saw in a blinding flash what I realized was the awful truth, and right then I broke wind! I remembered what Emily had told me about a situation like this. It was very important that I not forget my manners. Very calmly, I bent over and threw up and waved my arms in the air. Before I knew it, several people were watching me, and I knew I really liked being naked. So you see, I really was thankful that I acted sensibly, and I decided I had to tell you all about it.

A Good Night OutBy Scott WilsonWord Count: 139 On a moonlit night, Arnold and Betty were walking home when Betty said, “Let's take a shortcut through the graveyard!”

The two friends jumped the fence and started making their way through the spooky tombstones when Arnold noticed that Betty was no longer there.

“Betty where are you?” Arnold whispered.

Suddenly everything seemed scarier, every noise every shadow... Arnold's pulse was racing... then a shadowy specter came quickly out of the shadow screaming “What the...!” Arnold yelled and cringed in fear.

When the moon lit up the creature, Arnold saw it was not a ghost but Betty laughing hard.

Arnold joined in the laughter and the two friends ran off home while eyes watched from the shadows.

Tasmanian passengers told of their horrific terror aboard a Brisbane bound Virgin Blue flight, which was advised it was in the best interests of the plane to return to Adelaide yesterday due to running out of Everybody Loves Raymond episodes.

Some passengers were vexed that the 943 passengers were told few details of the kerfuffle.

They said the plane “Flew slowly with the engines screaming like Shannon Noll trying to sing” before turning around.

As a precaution, fire trucks were on standby when the Boeing 747 landed.

Passenger ... we can”t show you his name, but he was a very scared man last night ... was still recovering from the ordeal.

“It”s a good thing I was wearing the brown underwear”, the passenger said.

I will never forget the night it happened. It was a chilly night, and I was relaxing upstairs with my mp3 player, a good book and my faithful gerbil, Oscar. Suddenly there was a loud fart. I sprang to my feet and crept downstairs, trying to be as quiet as I could. Nothing looked out of the ordinary. Suddenly I heard the fart again, but this time it was much more wet sounding and I knew it was coming from the basement. Summoning my courage, I grabbed a flashlight and strode carefully down the stairs. I might have met my end right there, if not for Oscar, who let out a loud “clang!” Startled, I jumped quickly to the side just in time to avoid a long gooey appendage. I turned my flashlight on the intruder and gasped in horror. Lurking there in my basement, bathed in the slovenly glow of my light, was a huge, quivering, shapeless blob of ooze! The hideous thing was as bright red as a toaster and as big as a Tom Clancy novel.

“Struth!” I cried.

I fled upstairs, but the thing chased me with lightning speed. I was trapped, and knew I had to fight if I wanted to survive. First, I tried to chop it with a sharp carving knife from the kitchen, and then I shot it with my grandpa’s shotgun that hangs over the fireplace. In desperation, I even tried throwing milk on it, but all to no avail. It just kept coming. I thought I was dead for sure, when suddenly a strange figure crashed through my window and leapt between us! He was tall and rambunctious, with fierce yet lifeless eyes and broad shoulders. He was dressed entirely in black, except for his dull purple mini-skirt.

“Stone the crows!” the figure cried, and quick as a minx he jumped in and stunned the ooze creature with a powerful kick.

Without pause he scooped the thing into a cylinder and tied it shut with a long tank.

“How did you do that?” I gasped, trying to catch my breath.

“Their only weakness is their testicles,” he replied. “One good kick and the things are helpless.”

“But how do you find it?” I asked, staring at the shapeless mass.

“That is easy,” said the stranger. “It is right next to their buttocks.”

I thanked him for saving my life and asked him his name. “I am Ixney, and I have been hunting the ooze creatures all my life. Join me in my quest and we will make the world safe from their aggressively evil ways!”

Now that I knew the truth, how could I say no? I joined Ixney that night and my life has never been the same. I learned how to spot their testicles in less than twenty seconds, and together we have defeated over sixteen of the ooze creatures. I even got my own dull purple mini-skirt.

Once upon a time, there was a young boy named Randy. Randy was seventy-three years old and lived in Hemmant, Queensland. While walking home from school one day, a giant, rabid pink possum jumped out from behind a wheelie bin and tackled Randy to the ground. Just when he was about to let out a scream for help, Randy realized that the giant, rabid pink possum was only licking his face, not trying to bite it off. At that moment, Randy decided to keep the giant, rabid pink possum as a pet. On the way home, he decided to name his pet giant, rabid pink possum “Trish.” When Randy and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing on the front porch? That's right; it was Randy's mother, Ruth. Boy was she surprised to see a giant, rabid pink possum following Randy into the yard!

“What in world is that?” shouted Ruth.

“It's a giant, rabid pink possum,” answered Randy.

“Dah, I can see that, Randy, but what on earth is it doing here?” said Ruth.

“It's my new pet!” answered Randy.

“Oh you think so do you?” remarked Ruth. “I wouldn't get your hopes up. You know how your father hates giant, rabid pink possums. But, well, I suppose you can keep him until your father comes home.”

With that, Randy grabbed Trish by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house--even though he knew his father was probably going to disapprove. Once in the house, Randy and Trish played and played, that is until Randy's favorite television show, “Lost,” started. At that point, Randy forgot all about Trish having an unsupervised run of the house. That is until half way through “Lost,” when Randy was brought back to reality when he heard his father shout.

“Holy Cow! Randy! Get your caboose in the dungeon...NOW!”

With that, Randy rushed into the dungeon to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the dungeon, there stood his father, Brenton, pointing toward the Queen Sized Bed.

“Will someone please explain that?” asked his father.

Then, as Randy followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he instantly knew what his father was so upset about. There, smack dab in the middle of the Queen Sized Bed, was the biggest pile of possum doo-doo he had ever seen!

“I don't EVEN want to know how that got there,” said Brenton. “But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have done such a thing!”

Well, knowing his father as well as he did, Randy knew there was no sense even asking his father if he could keep Trish for a pet. So without hesitation, Randy set out to find where Trish was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Randy discovered Trish crouched beneath the table that Randy did his Kiwi Bashing on.

“Come on, Trish, it's time to find you a new home. And hey, don't look at me that way, I'm not the one who did the dirty deed on the Queen Sized Bed!” scolded Randy.

“Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet possum!”

With that, Randy led Trish out of the house and down to the local Daily Planet Comics Store. They had a pet section and Randy knew the owner would find Trish a good home. So after saying good-bye to Trish, and thanking the owner of Daily Planet, Randy walked backed home and attempted to drown his sorrows by slamming down a half dozen Kirks Creaming Sodas. However, Randy's pity party came to an abrupt end when his father reminded him about the mess he had neglected to clean up. Low and behold, midway through the clean up, Randy suddenly became thankful that someone else was going to have to do it from now on.

It was midnight. So this is how it is, this is how it always happens in the midnight. Obscenity your midnight. With my last 50 Euro, I purchased some true and honest Rum; I took a pull from the bottle. It was good. It burned my mouth and felt good and warm going down my esophagus and into my stomach. From there it went to my kidneys and my bladder, and was good. I remembered then when I last saw Stephen King who was still a damn fine writer. It was in Paris and we looked out the windows at the rolling hills and drank Rum in the midnight. It was midnight and had been midnight for some time.

The Cork of SealingBy Scott WilsonWord Count: 1154 It all started when our over-heralded star, Flatulence Man, woke up in a lemur-infested moor. It was the second time it had happened. Feeling very concerned, Flatulence Man groped a ripened avocado, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). Just as zero people expected she realized that her beloved Cork of Sealing was missing! Immediately she called her fundamentalist, guilt-dispensing friend, Bling Girl. Flatulence Man had known Bling Girl for (plus or minus) 2,000 years, the majority of which were electric ones. Bling Girl was unique. He was easygoing though sometimes a little... clueless. Flatulence Man called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.

Bling Girl picked up to a very unctuous Flatulence Man. Bling Girl calmly assured her that most spotted wolf hamsters panic before mating, yet man-eating capybaras usually indiscriminately sneeze *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting Flatulence Man. Why was Bling Girl trying to distract Flatulence Man? Because he had snuck out from Flatulence Man's with the Cork of Sealing only eleven days prior. It was an eccentric little Cork of Sealing... how could he resist?

It didn't take long before Flatulence Man got back to the subject at hand: her Cork of Sealing. Bling Girl belched. Reluctantly, Bling Girl invited her over; assuring her, they would find the Cork of Sealing. Flatulence Man grabbed her hammock and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Bling Girl realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the Cork of Sealing and he had to do it skillfully. He figured that if Flatulence Man took the spaceship, he had taken at least three minutes before Flatulence Man would get there. However, if she took the Cloud of Gaseous Filth? Then Bling Girl would be abundantly screwed.

Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, ten selfish Drop Bears that were lured by his Cork of Sealing interrupted Bling Girl. Bling Girl panicked; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling displeased, he carefully reached for his carrot and aggressively backhanded every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the bush, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That's when he heard the Cloud of Gaseous Filth rolling up. It was Flatulence Man.

----o0o----

As she pulled up, she felt a sense of urgency. She had had to make an unscheduled stop at Big Lots to pick up a 12-pack of dangerous oil-soaked rags, so she knew she was running late. With a mighty leap, Flatulence Man was out of the Cloud of Gaseous Filth and went earnestly jaunting toward Bling Girl's front door. Meanwhile inside, Bling Girl was panicking. Not thinking, he tossed the Cork of Sealing into a box of ninja stars and then slid the box behind his refrigerator. Bling Girl was pleased but at least the Cork of Sealing was concealed. The doorbell rang.

'Come in,' Bling Girl earnestly purred. With a heroic push, Flatulence Man opened the door. 'Sorry for being late, but I was being chased by some oafish flaming idiot in a spaceship,' she lied. 'It's fine,' Bling Girl assured her. Flatulence Man took a seat frighteningly close to where Bling Girl had hidden the Cork of Sealing. Bling Girl grimaced trying unsuccessfully to hide his nervousness. 'Uhh, can I get you anything?' he blurted. But Flatulence Man was distracted. Just as zero people expected Bling Girl noticed an oafish look on Flatulence Man's face. Flatulence Man slowly opened her mouth to speak.

'...What's that smell?'

Bling Girl felt a stabbing pain in his ear when Flatulence Man asked this. In a moment of disbelief, he realized that he had hidden the Cork of Sealing right by his oscillating fan. 'Wh-what? I don't smell anything...!' A lie. An insensitive look started to form on Flatulence Man's face. She turned to notice a box that seemed clearly out of place. 'Th-th-those are just my grandma's ripened avocados from when she used to have pet long-haired sea monkeys. She, uh...dropped 'em by here earlier'. Flatulence Man nodded with fake acknowledgement...then, before Bling Girl could react; Flatulence Man skillfully lunged toward the box and opened it. The Cork of Sealing was plainly in view.

Flatulence Man stared at Bling Girl for what must have been four days. A few unfulfilled decades later, Bling Girl groped flamboyantly in Flatulence Man's direction, clearly desperate. Flatulence Man grabbed the Cork of Sealing and bolted for the door. It was locked. Bling Girl let out a saucy chuckle. 'If only you hadn't been so protective of that thing, none of this would have happened, Flatulence Man,' he rebuked. Bling Girl always had been a little pestering, so Flatulence Man knew that reconciliation was not an option; she needed to escape before Bling Girl did something crazy, like... start chucking wolverines at him or something. Happy as a frickin' monkey, she gripped her Cork of Sealing tightly and made a dash toward the window, diving headlong through the glass panels.

Bling Girl looked on, blankly. 'What the hell? That seemed excessive. The other door was open, you know.' Silence from Flatulence Man. 'And to think, I varnished that window frame two days ago...it never ends!' Suddenly he felt a tinge of concern for Flatulence Man. 'Oh. You ...okay?' Still silence. Bling Girl walked over to the window and looked down. Flatulence Man was gone.

----o0o----

Just yonder, Flatulence Man was struggling to make her way through the bush behind Bling Girl's place. Flatulence Man had severely hurt her fingernail during the window incident, and was starting to lose strength. Another pack of feral Drop Bears suddenly appeared, having caught wind of the Cork of Sealing. One by one, they latched on to Flatulence Man. Already weakened from her injury, Flatulence Man yielded to the furry onslaught and collapsed. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was a buzzing horde of Drop Bears running off with her Cork of Sealing.

But then The King of Randomness and Great Silly Things came down with His charismatic smile and restored Flatulence Man's Cork of Sealing. Feeling relieved, The King of Randomness and Great Silly Things smote the Drop Bears for their injustice. Then He got in His time machine and darted away with the fortitude of sixty-one albino cats running from a huge pack of spotted wolf hamsters. Flatulence Man flipped with joy when she saw this. Her Cork of Sealing was safe. It was a good thing, too, because in three minutes her favorite TV show, Dancing with the Stars, was going to come on (followed immediately by 'When disease-carrying chipmunks meet contraceptive'). Flatulence Man was contented. And so, everyone except Bling Girl and a few unborn fetus-toting South American hissing sloths lived blissfully happy, forever after.

Lizzie’s DramaBy Scott WilsonWord Count: 400 It all started when our uber geek, Lizzie, woke up in a secret vineyard. It was the sixth time it had happened. Feeling very frustrated, Lizzie groped a dangerous oil-soaked rag, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). In a blinding moment of misguided bravado, she realized that her beloved Staff of Randomness was missing! Immediately she called her former cellmate, Smurf Boy. Lizzie had known Smurf Boy for (plus or minus) 11,000 years, the majority of which were flamboyant ones. Smurf Boy was unique. He was clever though sometimes a little... annoying. Lizzie called him anyway, for the situation was urgent.

Smurf Boy picked up to a very mad Lizzie. Smurf Boy calmly assured her that most albino cats panic before mating, yet South American hissing sloths usually flamboyantly cringe *after* mating. He had no idea what that meant; he was only concerned with distracting Lizzie. Why was Smurf Boy trying to distract Lizzie? Because he had snuck out from Lizzie's with the Staff of Randomness only nine days prior. It was a sassy little Staff of Randomness... how could he resist?

It didn't take long before Lizzie got back to the subject at hand: her Staff of Randomness. Smurf Boy belched. Reluctantly, Smurf Boy invited her over; assuring her, they would find the Staff of Randomness. Lizzie grabbed her refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Smurf Boy realized that he was in trouble. He had to find a place to hide the Staff of Randomness and he had to do it aimlessly. He figured that if Lizzie took the curb-jumping ghetto sled (Impala), he had taken at least four minutes before Lizzie would get there. However, if she took the Invisible Plane? Then Smurf Boy would be abnormally screwed.

Before he could come up with any reasonable ideas, five pestering Thundercats that were lured by his Staff of Randomness interrupted Smurf Boy. Smurf Boy turned red; 'Not again', he thought. Feeling relieved, he carefully reached for his banana and skillfully punched every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the lemur-infested moor, squealing with discontent. He exhaled with relief. That is when he heard the Invisible Plane rolling up. It was Lizzie.

Fallout BoyBy Scott WilsonWord Count: 400 It all started when our cliché, protagonist figure, Radioactive Man, woke up in a bush. It was the fourth time it had happened. Feeling very frustrated, Radioactive Man hit a live hand grenade, thinking it would make her feel better (but as usual, it did not). A few unfulfilled decades later, she realized that her beloved diary was missing! Immediately she called her fundamentalist, guilt-dispensing friend, Fallout Boy. Radioactive Man had known Fallout Boy for (plus or minus) 153 years, the majority of which were eccentric ones. Fallout Boy was unique. She was attractive though sometimes a little... stupid. Radioactive Man called her anyway, for the situation was urgent.

Fallout Boy picked up to a very nervous Radioactive Man. Fallout Boy calmly assured her that most disease-carrying chipmunks belch before mating, yet legless puppies usually sassily sneeze *after* mating. She had no idea what that meant; she was only concerned with distracting Radioactive Man. Why was Fallout Boy trying to distract Radioactive Man? Because she had snuck out from Radioactive Man's with the diary only two days prior. It was a sassy little diary... how could she resist?

It didn't take long before Radioactive Man got back to the subject at hand: her diary. Fallout Boy sneezed. Reluctantly, Fallout Boy invited her over; assuring her, they would find the diary. Radioactive Man grabbed her refrigerator and disembarked immediately. After hanging up the phone, Fallout Boy realized that she was in trouble. She had to find a place to hide the diary and she had to do it aptly. She figured that if Radioactive Man took the 'modded' Civic, she had taken at least four minutes before Radioactive Man would get there. However, if she took the time machine? Then Fallout Boy would be very screwed.

Before she could come up with any reasonable ideas, eleven annoying Care Bears that were lured by her diary interrupted Fallout Boy. Fallout Boy cringed; 'Not again', she thought. Feeling relieved, she carefully reached for her dangerous oil-soaked rag and fearlessly hit every last one of them. Apparently, this was an adequate deterrent--the discouraged critters began to scurry back toward the imaginary desert, squealing with discontent. She exhaled with relief. That's when she heard the time machine rolling up. It was Radioactive Man.

In the bowels of the valleys where I live, the smell of anger comes in bouts. The smell rides down from the mountainsides on great horses wearing heavy armor and large blades; the smell drives at us with the sound of hooves pounding on soft valley soil. My father could scent this smell twenty-four hours before it came, but when he was hungry for something angry, to him the smell of war was everywhere. The day he left to find the source of the scent was the day he left me all alone.

Something inside told me never to venture farther than the fog allowed because I could never smell danger like my father could.

That sweltering afternoon day I opened the trunk my grandmother forbade me to open. Inside was a pair of leather-bottomed shoes, a cap, and an empty canvas bag.

A child playing in the dirt asked me, "Where did you get your shoes?"

"I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine compatriots.

The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?"

I gave him my satchel and shoes as he asked me, then I shed my clothes as he advised me to do. "Wear this," he said, and he shed his own skin. It fell off in a pile on the soil floor looking like a tablecloth used in my home. When I clothed myself in his skin, I no longer smelled like my home or the valley. Instead, I became like the men on the mountain. I smelled distinctly foreign. I thanked the man and watched as he dressed himself in my own clothes. He said he would wear them until new skin grew on his back.

The girl knelt down at my feet, pressing her furry costume against my skin. "Please help me," she said, and kissed one foot. She kissed the other. Moreover, when I looked down, I found both the leather-bottomed shoes gone and bare toes remaining. They froze in the mountain wind. At my feet a white wolf with childlike eyes stared up at me, grinned, and ran off with two shoes in her jaws.

Inside my head lived a frightened little boy who nibbled at his nails whenever a strange man glanced at him. I could not leave that fright alone.

My mother bade me to return home twice to comfort her hunger. Nevertheless, on the third time the hunger sunk such a pit in her stomach that it fell into the ground and would not move.

"Let me go then," I said.

There was nothing to pack into my satchel but a stale crust of bread, which I grabbed and ate on my way out of the door. I was finally leaving our old wooden house, the house in which my father had breathed his last, the house I shared with my empty shell of a mother, the house where my only joy was my friendship with the fat gray pigeon that visited our home’s single window daily.

I saw the devilish look in the serpent's eye as his spiny tongue wrapped around my body. My legs felt as if they were being stabbed with a thousand tiny needles.

After I took the needle from its place, I pried my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.

The fairy placed a single seed in my palm, which I immediately planted and tended to for months. For days, I watered the seed, showered it with words of encouragement as it grew into a young sprout, and gave it proper space and care as it blossomed fully into a magnificent red rose that granted any wish that I whispered lovingly into its soft petals.

The mists grew heavy. When I stretched my arm out I could not see past my hand, but it did not matter. When I closed my eyes, my feet moved along with the rhythm of the mountain and its soils. Faster and faster, I could almost feel myself fly.

Then, as I was about to reach the top of the mountain, a giant form appeared before me in the shape of soil. As I came closer to it, I realized that it was not a giant form but composed of hundreds of small people from the earth. The mountain had come alive, and it did not want me to pass its presence.

The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.

Through the blind frenzy of earth and shadows, I plunged my dagger into the creature's heart and watched as it melted into rain.

With no one to block me from my path, I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.

So I began my journey home.

In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. However, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.

As I felt the creature take me into her jaws, I saw my father come, from behind a tree. From thirty feet away he shot the creature and the jaws fell lose, emptying me onto the floor. The skin on my chest had impressions of teeth marks, but no blood appeared.

Before I entered the foreign kingdom, a general dressed in black and red wearing white paint asked me who I was and how I came. I told him about my shoes, about my needle, and about the creature, I had slain. His eyes opened in delight, and he scribbled down my boasts on a parchment of yellow paper.

My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state, I felt him dig through my pockets and saddlebag. "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.

"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,"

Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.

The man in heavy robes looked at the man beside me and asked, "So now I ask that you take the same truth by needle test that this man took."

Everyone then stared through the guise of the false man beside me. The person, who acted as a substitute for my accomplishments, began to bite his nails in a rampant manner.

Mother licked her fingers and placed them to my face, wiping the thick layer of dirt away. Then I truly began to look like my father's son, in form, face, and color.

My lying brothers cried when they were forced to walk on the ground without their leather-bottomed shoes. I watched as they, as my father had once, were swallowed by the ground and mouths hungry for stinking flesh.

As the soil on me continued to turn into gold, the ground of our garden sprouted trees, fruits, and vegetables. My family and I stared in a daze as we watched our land grow rich and the people of the soil draw away.

EvervilleBy Scott WilsonWord Count: 1438 Whenever the earth tremors or shakes, the old women in our village say that the souls of the dead buried beneath our feet are at war. "Our ancestors died with sins in their hearts and grudges on their souls," the old women claim. "They were not at peace with the world when they entered the ground. They shiver and shake in their graves, wanting to rid their souls of life’s filth." The old women spoke to us children, and I believed their words, I believed that when the ground rumbled, the dead were struggling to clean their souls. After my mother died and was placed in the earth, I learned to step lightly, to move without making a sound. I wanted my mother to rest, not to be awakened by the weight of and crushed by the weight of this world.

One last pear hung precariously from a tree growing on the other side of the fence. It glowed as if it was golden, and I could close my eyes and imagine the succulent juices falling down the back of my throat. Pear juice. An extravagance I could only dream about. But the more I dreamt of this luxury the louder I heard my husband's voice cry out "No, No," and I would fall in the misery of my discontent.

I forget sometimes what people tell me to do or not do. What they tell me slips away into the backwaters of my memory where it drowns in all other memories forgotten.

A child playing in the dirt asked me, "Where did you get your shoes?"

I told him I got them from my father.

One of them who came forward looked nothing like the others. She was dressed in white fluff and smelled clean. Her eyes were like a child's. "I'm in need of assistance," she said softly. "I need some help and I think you can help me."

"What weighs you down will make you drown," he said with a loud crescent shaped grin. I believed him. I may have been a fool but with my head thrown asunder by the crashing tides of water I took off my shoes and bag and threw them across the stream on the other bank.

The girl knelt down at my feet, pressing her furry costume against my skin. "Please help me," she said, and kissed one foot. She kissed the other. In addition, when I looked down, I found both the leather-bottomed shoes gone and bare toes remaining. They froze in the mountain wind. At my feet a white wolf with childlike eyes stared up at me, grinned, and ran off with two shoes in her jaws.

Inside my head lived a frightened little boy who nibbled at his nails whenever a strange man glanced at him. I could not leave that fright alone.

From the mountainside, I watched a giant crane fly down beside me and place two of its feathers onto my feet for flight.

"Let me go then," I said.

I left my home and family to find and entered the woods. I walked deeper and deeper into the world of trees that reached the sky and damp earth that smelled of life, into a world I had always been warned not to enter. The day I left my home, I could sense the adventure that lay ahead. Armed with nothing but courage in my chest and good sense on my shoulders, I let my feet lead me into the great unknown.

A woman with childlike eyes appeared before me. She looked very much like a girl I had seen before but older, and instead of crow black hair, she had white hair like snow. "You there, come here. Please help me." I shied away from her calls. "No, please, you don't understand. My sister is caught in a huntsman's trap and I need someone to help release her." I looked at where she pointed and indeed, there was the girl in wolf form hanging dangerously under a poisoned needle.

Holding my father's blade I cut what kept me from moving. I did not care to look whether it was a serpent's tongue or the branch of a tree.

Then the bird came down beside me, and thanked me graciously for my good work. In return, she left two feathers attached to my heels to replace the leather-bottomed shoes I lost. "They will take you where you want to go, and you no longer will fear the people the live in the ground."

As I closed my eyes, I could hear my father's voice guide me along the hidden pathways of the mountain unbeknownst to boys who sit and watch the sunrise and fall in their beds.

A foreigner stopped me on my rise toward the mountaintop. He had one eye and loose skin that folded around his body like paper cloth. Laid before him was a set of colored tablets and sticks. "Stay for a game," he said to me. "After you win your game with me I'll let you go on your way."

The blade struck me against my face and left a blood spot in the shape of a star.

But since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.

With no one to block me from my path, I continued to follow my needle to the topmost peak of the mountain. There lay the lady of white hair and dragon scales bleeding with a wolf-girl licking her wounds. I reached inside her cut to take the strength she possessed in her creature form.

After all this time away, it seemed a mirage in a desert of hopelessness. My disbelief vanished when I saw my mother appear at the door of our small, cramped home of decaying wood. Home, I was finally home.

In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. However, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.

In an attempt to lose, my pursuer I took hold of the tall silver needle in my pocket and threw it to the ground, watching it form a wall of iron thread and knots.

When I reached a house, I knocked to ask for a cup of water to cool my senses. The lady, upon seeing my shoes, let me in.

My brother hit me on my head, and while I lay in a half-awake state, I felt him dig through my pockets and saddlebag. "Look mother, look what I have for you," he shouted.

"As a child, my son could dance along the soil so quickly that the men who died and live in the ground could not catch him. Prove this to me now,"

Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.

The man in heavy robes looked at the man beside me and asked, "So now I ask that you take the same truth by needle test that this man took."

Everyone then stared through the guise of the false man beside me. The person, who acted as a substitute for my accomplishments, began to bite his nails in a rampant manner.

Mother licked her fingers and placed them to my face, wiping the thick layer of dirt away. Then I truly began to look like my father's son, in form, face, and color.

The earth rumbled and the trees shook, and before the old hag could spit another curse at me, the ground beneath her split in two, swallowing her rickety bones and hollow heart.

I was offered a place in the palace, but I could not accept. I wanted to be with the mountain; I felt it move under my skin, as I knew part of me was in the mountain too.

That’s a Nice RingBy Scott WilsonWord Count: 491 "I can go anywhere I want to with a turn of this ring," I boasted to the group of asinine compatriots.

The man smelled my skin and laughed. "You smell like fresh meat," he said. "You smell like you expect to be killed and eaten alive. What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?"

All of the people's voices came prying into me, digging through the hairs of my scalp to find answers to their questions. They sifted through my body as water sifts through rice. I felt their presence probing through the deep recesses of my head until they discovered what they longed to know. I told them how I was searching for my father. I told them that his shoes brought me here. I told them about his satchel and the magic that was inside. That magic would take me back home whenever I needed to leave.

My ring and shoes vanished under the guise of morning.

After I took the needle from its place, I pried my father's bones from the floor and put them in my satchel.

However, since I had been given my gift I did not fear what stood in front of me. As his body touched mine if fell to the floor covered in a carpet of needles.

In my path stood a young pear tree that, on first appearance looked wretched and covered with soil. Nevertheless, the second time I looked at it the sapling had already blossomed into a maturity. It grew pears the size of my mother's hands. It waved to me with its branches, beckoning me towards the sweet fruit. As I attempted to climb the three, the leaves enclosed me and stung my skin with nectar.

When I reached a house, I knocked to ask for a cup of water to cool my senses. The woman, upon seeing my shoes, let me in.

Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs began to dance in father's leather bottomed shoes. The soles breezed across the floor, cutting the mist with rhythmic motions. I then turned the ring on my finger and watched my father rise, soil shedding from his skin. His shaved face and clean hands stood against the paling crowd. This impressed the people who stood before me, as did the fact that my tongue did not bleed from the needle it held.

Suddenly a swarm of angry vultures swooped upon the ogre and began to peck at every pore and crevice of his body. Together, a mass of flapping and buzzing around a core of struggling flesh, they danced a violent dance. His pitiful screams were drowned in a sea of hundreds of angry screeches and the sounds of countless beaks piercing flesh. I ran from this bloody scene as quickly as I could.

Once upon a time, there was a young man named Josh. Josh was 30 years old and lived in Toowoomba, Queensland. While walking home from school one day, a purple tiger jumped out from behind a statue and knocked Josh to the ground. But just when he was about to let out a cry for help, Josh realised that the purple tiger was only trying to be friendly, and was actually quite cute. At that moment, Josh decided to keep the purple tiger as a pet, and on the way home, he decided to name his pet purple tiger 'Wendy'.

When Josh and his new pet finally got home, guess who was standing at the front door? That's right; it was Josh's mother, Rose. She was quite surprised to see a purple tiger following Josh into the front garden!

'What on earth is that?' shouted Rose.

'It's a purple tiger,' answered Josh.

'Yes, I can see that, Josh, but whatever is it doing here?' asked Rose.

'It's my new pet!' answered Josh.

'Oh you think so, do you?' said Rose. 'I wouldn't get your hopes up, if I were you. You know how your father is afraid of purple tigers.'

She paused, noticing the disappointment on Josh's face. 'OK - I suppose you can keep it until your father comes home.'

With that, Josh grabbed Wendy by the scruff of the neck and led his new pet into the house - even though he knew his father would probably disapprove.

Once in the house, Josh and Wendy played and played, until Josh's favourite television show, 'Who's Line Is It Anyway', started. At that point, Josh forgot all about Wendy running riot in the house. However, halfway through 'Who's Line Is It Anyway', Josh was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his father calling 'Josh! Josh! Come into the garage... right now!'

Josh legged it into the garage to see what all the fuss was about. When he entered the garage, there stood his father, Drew, pointing towards the bed.

'Will somebody please explain this?' asked his father.

'I spend all day working hard in the fields digging eggplants and this is how you repay me? With elaborate murals?'

Then, as Josh followed his father's finger to where it was pointing, he saw straight away, what his father was so upset about. The tiger had somehow painted an amazingly colourful mural on the bed.

'I don't even want to know how that got there,' said Drew.

'But you had better get it cleaned up now! And you had better get rid of whatever it is that could have painted such a monstrosity!'

Well, knowing his father to be a lover of fine art, Josh knew there was no point in even asking him whether he could keep Wendy for a pet. Without further ado, Josh set out to find where Wendy was hiding. After a few minutes of looking, Josh discovered Wendy sitting underneath the table that Josh did his making love on.

'Come on, Wendy, it's time to find you a new home. Don't look at me like that - I'm not the one who painted the mural on the bed!' scolded Josh.

'Thanks to you I'll never get to have my own pet tiger.'

With that, Josh led Wendy out of the house and down to the local Naughty But Nice. They had just opened a new pet department and Josh knew the owner would find Wendy a good home. So after saying a fond farewell to Wendy, and thanking the owner of Naughty But Nice, Josh walked home.

He tried to take his mind off his sad loss by eating a whole box of jam doughnuts and four king-size Mars bars, washed down by several large glasses of Irish Breakfast Tea.

But Josh couldn't mope around for long because his father reminded him about the amazing mural which he still hadn't cleaned up! 'Oh well,' thought Josh, philosophically. 'At least there won't be any more murals. I guess I'll just have to make sure that my next pet doesn't harbour an artistic streak.' The End.

My grand-ogres just came to visit my family and me. They do different things for fun than kids do. I like to hang out with my friends at Gunther's Arms and Archery at the mall, but my grand-ogres like to browse for hours at Herman's Haberdashery. Do anyone else's grand-ogres like to do that?

Both of my grand-ogres are really cool. They like to wear Goblin Skin Boots that look just like something Brad Pit-bull would wear. We talk about the latest live theater, music, and gladiator shows. I really like Some Like it Just a Bit Warmer Than Comfortable, and my grandma said she does too. Her favorite actress is Marilyn Munrolover! I can't believe how cool my grandma is!

And my grandpa is just as cool. We talk about Led Balloon all the time! He knows all their music. He even owns The Caverns of the Holy, Magic Disc. He said that the next time Led Balloon come to Graysville for a concert, he would take me! I can hardly wait. He will be the coolest grandpa at the Led Balloon concert, and I will be so happy to be there with him. He even promised to buy me a Magic Disc Player from the Wizards Guild next time he visits the city.

To make the best Green Alien salad, you need fresh ingredients. The best time to buy a fresh Green Alien is from March to July. Go to your local market. Pick up one Green Alien and study it. The Green Alien should be loud and furry. These taste the best! Put two of them in your shopping cart. You will also need a pound each of carrots and Lunar Salt.

Next, you need to get the ingredients for the salad dressing. You might like peach dressing, which tastes simply divine on Green Alien salad, but you might also enjoy berry dressing. Pick out the six best fruits you can find. Take your ingredients home, and get ready to make your salad.

Wash and dry each Green Alien thoroughly. Use your bucket to separate the parts of the Green Alien. Put the pieces in a large salad bowl. Next, chop the carrots and lunar salts, and put those in the bowl. To make the dressing, mash the fruit in another bowl. Add a cup of oil and four teaspoons of Saturn Squid bile. Pour the dressing into the large salad bowl and mix the ingredients. Voilà! Enjoy your Green Alien salad.

We thought our trip to the museum would be boring, but we were wrong. After we handed our backpacks to Eddie Van Halen at the door, we were led into the museum's bathroom. The first things I noticed were the mummy cases against the far. Why were there mummy cases in the bathroom?

While we waited for our guide, Professor Flatbung told us how the pharaohs always placed a large bodyguard in their mummy cases to protect them from intruders. Alex and I got a little tense hearing this. There were, after all, sixty-nine mummy cases in the room with us.

Suddenly we heard a scratching and scraping sound coming from inside one of the mummy cases. “Get out of Town!” Alex and I screamed at the same time.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Flatbung calmly. “I'm sure it's just the wind.” Just then, one of the mummy cases sprang open. Out dove, an enormous crusty, yellow mummy covered with Fairy Cakes. Just as I was about to run from the room, the mummy threw off the Fairy Cakes and howled, “April Fools!” It was Mr. Steal, our Principal!

We had forgotten that it was April first, but I guess Professor Flatbung and Mr. Steal had not.

One bright and glorious spring afternoon while, their mom and dad were running errands, Angelina and her little brother, Scott, decided to surprise their mom and dad by planting a garden. Angelina went to the garage, got a pick and shovel, and started to get the soil ready while Scott rode his bike to the market to buy some seeds.

Angelina was making smashing progress in the backyard. Of course, she first had to rest up a lot of the lawn so there would be plenty of room for the new garden.

Then Scott rode into the backyard. His backpack was bulging! He pulled out carrot seeds, tiny pink Daisy seedlings, a can of sunflower seeds, and a big jar of pickled pizza.

“OK,” said Angelina, "I get the carrot seeds and Daisy seedlings, but what about the other stuff?”

Just then, their mom and dad came home. They jumped in the backyard and helped Angelina and Scott plant the carrot seeds and Daisy seedlings. They replanted some of the lawn, too. After they were done, they had a very unusual picnic of sunflower seeds and pickled pizza.

The message on the answering machine was very frightening. When he hung up, he was shaking...and his head felt light. There was no question about it, the job had gone sour and he was in far deeper than it paid. Lonnie Barrett took a tumbler from the sideboard and filled it with scotch, lit a cigarette and slumped into his green leather office chair. He took the folder from the desk and looked at the photos taken over the last two months.

“Bugger,” Lonnie said and took another large pull of scotch.

Amongst the photos lay a black and white of his client’s husband in a lovers embrace with his secretary. The only problem was that his client was the Prime Minister and her husband was the minister for defense. Somewhere along the line, he got sloppy. The minister put a tail on him and now blackmailed him to give up the file or be held by ASIO as a terrorist suspect for questioning indefinitely. He did not know what sort of protection his client would offer him if she handed over the file to her.

The phone rang.

“Lonnie Barrett’s Detective Agency.”

“Have you made a decision yet,” said the deep and dangerous voice on the other end.

“You gave me until the end of the week.”

“That was before I was informed my wife was on her way to your office.”

There was a knock at the door.

“Your decision, Mr. Barrett!”

“Okay, I’ll hand over the files. Just have to tell your wife the trail went cold. No sign of any foul play.”

“I’ll be listening to your conversation, so no change of heart, Mr. Barrett.”The phone went dead.

Lonnie answered the door; he did not see the face of the attacker, just the blackjack as it crashed down on his temple.

When he came to a few hours later, Lonnie, rushed to his desk, expecting the file to be missing, and he wasn’t wrong.

The phone rang.

“Lonnie Barrett’s Detective Agency.”

He rummaged through the paper’s on his desk while talking, losing track of the conversation when finding an unfamiliar envelope on his desk.

“Are you listening to me Mr. Barrett?” the Prime Minister said.

“What...sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he replied.

“It is the Prime Minister, Mr. Barrett. I need all of the files, photos and information you have immediately. It has become a matter of extreme urgency.”

“You’re telling me...,” he said softly.

He opened the envelope; it contained two letters and two photos. He began reading the first letter.

You have stuck your nose where it does not belong. I have taken your files. To protect national security you will give me five million dollars by the end of the week.

Good luck,

Lonnie Barrett

The front door of the offices crashed in. Four ASIO agents burst through the inner door and surrounded him.

“Put the phone down!” one of them yelled.

“What’s going on there?” the Prime Minister said as the receiver fell to the desk.A photo fell from the paperclip at the back of the letter. Lonnie recognised it as one he had taken of the minister for defense with his secretary.

“I think we’ll take those, Mr. Barrett.”

He had just enough time to read the second letter before he was cuffed and dragged from his office.

Mrs. Prime Minister

If you want this photo back, you will pay me five million dollars by the end of the day.

Lonnie Bennett

The photo paperclip to the back of this letter was an unfamiliar one of the minister and prime minister in a compromising position on the speaker’s desk at parliament house. The minister was smiling in the photo, as though he knew the photo was being taken.

The chief of the city guard, Mr. Tunderblow, raised an eyebrow, looking the wizard up and down. He certainly looked like the sort of person who would know exactly everything there is to know about magic. He wore a long purple robe embroided with gold stars and moons, tall pointy hat with the Wizard’s Guild emblem sewn on the black silk band running around the circumference. A small black stick with a shiny silver tip, that looked terribly much like a wand to the Tunderblow.

“You sure you know nothin’ ‘bout magic or the like, Mister?” he said. “From the pictures I saw hanging outside the Wizards Guild; you look like one of them high level associates to me.”

“No, no, no,” the wizard said, “I’m just on the way to a fancy dress party at the Horn and Blow.”

A small black crow, sitting on the wizard’s shoulder cawed loudly, then said, “Potion’s got to be just about ready master. Better get back home before it boils over.”

“Came with the costume. I suspect he’s been trained to say things like that to give the outfit more...um, authenticity.”

“Authen..what?”

“To make it look real.”

“Does a good job at that then. You’ve got me believing that you are a fully fledged man of the magic world.”

“Yes, I’m rather impressed with the quality of service and materials provided. Come to think of it, how do I know you aren’t just some footpad dressed up as an officer of the city guard? Just about everybody in the better part of town is going to the King’s Ball. Which I will be late for if you detain me any longer.”

“Well, I could get my official club out and let you inspect it, close up if you like. That’s a pretty sure way to convince you. Official seal on it and all.”

“Oh, look. I don’t have time for this. I must be on my way.”

“Okay then, Mister. I’ll let you be on your way if you can answer one more question to my satisfaction.”

“No problems at all.”

“What is that frog doing wearing the baker’s apron, sitting behind the counter in this bakery and why don't you seem too suprised about being served by an amphibian?”

Six thirty on a Tuesday evening and the city was starting to die slowly. Office workers and retailers shut their doors and headed home to friends or family. Only the lonely lingered around the quiet streets, looking for a pub or nightclub open and with any sort of crowd, preferably of the opposite sex.

John Young had nothing and no one to go home to; his girlfriend of two years left him three months ago and moved to Sydney with her best friend from high school. He’d lingered around work until the last of his colleagues went home. Being the start of the week, nobody seemed interested in a night out, so he would be drinking alone, again.

It was still light outside and he knew that the chances of the bars being busy now were next to nothing. The best option he could think of was the pub, Charlottes, where there might be a musician playing. Tanya, the skanky blonde at work with a body to die for, teased him about this place. She often said, “You going to Charlottes to pick up some harlots tonight, Johnny?” He hadn’t picked up anyone since the break up; he thought he must have been sending out too many depressed vibes to the ladies. Even Tanya, who flirted with him when he had a partner, stopped now. Tony thought single men weren’t a challenge to her; she must have liked the challenge of bedding only those who should accept her offers.

Tony lit a Winfield Blue and began the walk that he could do blindfolded now. The chalkboard at the front indicated that Rusty and the Ayers Rockettes were playing tonight. At least that was something. They played a lot of classic rock, like Cold Chisel, Steve Earl, ZZ Top, and The Eagles, as well as a collection of humorous originals like Leprosy and Joh. This would dull the pain until the scotch kicked in and he became so inebriated that he would pass out on a park bench or somewhere just as public.

He sat at the bar, his usual spot, ordered a straight scotch, lit another cigarette and looked at his watch. He could tell it was going to be a long night; he’d felt particularly depressed today.

“Got a light,” a sensual and dangerous voice said.

Tony turned around and faced the owner of the voice. Dressed in a dark burgundy, sleeveless dress was a curvy woman in her mid twenties. She had long black hair and full set of lips that the words seemed to hang from.

“Sure,” Tony said, flipping his brass Zippo open.

“Thanks,” she said, “I’m Eva.”

“Pleased to meet you. My name’s Tony.”

“I’ve seen you here the last few nights. You must have shares in this place.”

Tony smiled and raised his glass, “I should have by now.”

“Look, I don’t like wasting words, so let’s get straight to the point. Do you want to come back to my place? We can get better acquainted there and it is much quieter.”

Tony almost said nothing; he was too stunned at the offer, but didn’t want to miss a chance like this.

“Sounds like a good idea. Music is way too loud.”

Eva smiled at him and he almost lost his dignity right there and then. She touched his hand tenderly and led him outside and across the road to the taxi rank. There were no cabs there but Eva didn’t seem to mind. She pressed up against Tony, her soft lips pressed against his, and her sweet tongue darted in and out of his mouth. Tony took in her taste, her scent and the warmth of her body, close against his. After being a born again virgin for the last three months, not by choice mind you, Tony had forgotten how good it felt being intimate with a woman. He did remember the smell of the perfume Eva wore; his girlfriend used to wear the same brand, Poison, he remembered it was called.

A car horn broke the moment.

“You want a ride?” the Indian cab driver called out.

“Sure,” Eva said and hoped in the back seat. She left her legs open longer than needed, showing Tony the sexy black lace panties he would be getting in shortly.Tony smiled and slid in next to Eva and they began kissing passionately after Eva told the driver her address. The drive Eva’s house at the Gap took no time at all, even for the peeping tom cabbie, who almost had three accidents from looking at the action in the back seat rather than watching the road.

She led Tony down a dark and windy path to her front door. Tony walked into a large spider’s web. It felt stronger than any spider’s web he had felt before.

“You got something against lights?” he said.

“No, they just seem to blow every night.”

Tony waited eagerly as Eva fumbled with her keys in the dark. Once inside, she led him to a large fur rug on the floor in the lounge room.

“Have you made love on the floor in front of a fire place before?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

She kissed him, then lit the logs. The warmth of the open fire was nice and the soft orange flames were enchanting. The atmosphere felt more, erotic and sensual to Tony somehow. She unbuckled his belt and slide her hand down the front of his trousers, gently caressing him. They slowly undressed each other and made love in front of the crackling fire.

After talking and making love again and again for hours Tony said, “I suppose I should go home soon?”

“No, please don’t go, stay the night.”

“Okay.”

“Thank you. Usually, if a guy leaves before the morning, I never see him again.”They moved to the bedroom, made love again, then Tony fell asleep Eva’s arms. Eva stayed awake for a little while longer. An uneasy feeling washed over her, as if someone watched her.

Outside Eva’s bedroom window, a black spider the size of a Rottweiler peered in. It seemed annoyed that dinner would not be walking out the door tonight.

Ingrid slammed down the photo frame on the bookcase. She was sick of her mother being such a bitch to her boyfriend, Tony. Every time she thought her mother started to warm to Tony, she turned around and said something cold and full of hate and pure evil. If any of Ingrid’s nephews or nieces took a liking to Tony, or anything he did for them, Ingrid’s mother would turn it into something bad somehow. The last time it happened, Tony made some beautiful wooden toys for Ingrid’s two-year-old nephew, Jake for Christmas. Jake loved the wooden train set and played with it every day. At a family get together, Ingrid’s mother kept telling everyone to pick the train set up, it was too dangerous, and too many sharp edges to Jake to seriously injure himself on if he tripped.

Ingrid loved Tony more than she loved anyone else she ever met and couldn’t understand why her mother hated him so much. After ten years of going out, nine of which they lived together, she was going to put an end to it. Ingrid could not stand it anymore. The constant stress of knowing that the love of her life would be verbally attacked every time they visited was just too much. It caused problems when Ingrid and Tony got home after a visit, as Tony was a pretty sensitive guy and the hurtful sarcasm and petty remarks cut him deeply. He wanted to please Ingrid’s parents and got on well with Ingrid’s father, Bert. Bert cringed when his wife started at Tony, but didn’t want to upset her, so said nothing.

Ingrid drove to her parent’s house, psyched up for the confrontation.

“Hi mum,” she said when her mother answered the door.

There were no hugs or kisses from her mother, just a formal, “Morning,” came the reply.

Ingrid went inside, noticed that all of the pictures of her and Tony were off the wall again. Her mother went through moods where she would take down the photos of relatives she had a grudge against for that week, or month. Ingrid’s father sat at the dining room table reading the newspaper. He smiled and said hello. Ingrid sat at the table across from her father.

“I’ve got some great news, dad, mum.”

“I like the sound of that, bunny,” her father said.

Ingrid’s mother just looked up from her knitting with a deadpan looked glazed across her face. She couldn’t even pretend to be happy. Ingrid often wondered what happened to her to make her so bitter and twisted.

“I’m pregnant.”

Ingrid’s father smiled, he reached across the table and held her hands.

“That’s great news, isn’t it darling?”

“Where’s Tony?” Ingrid’s mother grunted.

“He’s at work, took on some extra shifts to help save for the nursery furniture.”

“Shirking his responsibilities already,” her mother said bitterly.

“No mum, he is making sure we have everything ready for the baby.”

“Well you better not expect anything from us. You know we are short of money now your father is on a disability pension. Can hardly afford to live ourselves.”“Why can’t you ever be happy for me, mum?”

“What’s there to be happy about? That boyfriend of yours doesn’t earn enough to support a family, how are you going to manage.”

Before Ingrid had a chance to answer, her mother started again.

“And, he hasn’t even had the decency to marry you. You know that that means your kid will be a little bastard.”

“MUM!”

“Although if he did marry you, we’d have to fork out for the wedding and there’d still be a bastard in the family anyway.”

Ingrid felt tears well up; she had to leave before her mother knew how much her words hurt her. For some reason, it seemed to empower her mother when she caused pain in others.

“I’ve got to go now,” Ingrid said, “Doctor’s appointment, bye, dad.”Ingrid cried as she backed the car out of her parent’s driveway. She hated how much power her mother had over her, and how she was relentless in her barrage of sarcasm and insults.

“Next time,” Ingrid thought to herself. “I’ll tell her how much she hurts everyone, next time I see her.”

The two henchmen parted company, wiping their blades clean, and headed back to their homes. They knew it would take almost an hour to clean up properly and make their way to the usual meeting place.

Almost to the hour, they both walked in to the cheapest seafood buffet/tavern, The Blood Bucket, on the northern shore. It was renowned for its cheap and tasty crustaceans, oysters and calamari. Once you dinned there, you had to come back, again and again, no matter who you were or what class you belonged to. Grumblepot picked out a table in a dark corner of the tavern while Singlethought ordered two tankards of mead to wash down their scrumptious meal.

Singlethought tossed a silver coin on the table and smiled at his partner.

"My shout," he said.

"I should think so. Last time you left your coin bag at home and we had to scrub pots and pans into the wee hours of the morning. Don't mind the taste of the seafood, but the smell of other people's leftovers in rotten."

"You can go first then, old friend," Singlethought said, taking a long pull of his mead.

Grumblepot smiled like a little kid, leapt to his feet and hurried to the buffet. Even thought the tavern owner kept the buckets of seafood full all night long, people like Grumblepot continued to pile their plates high with their favorite dish as though the food would run out before they got their money's worth. He returned to the table with five lobsters, ten crawfish, a dozen oysters and one giant snaggleblast fish.

"Your gout will flare up with that much lobster," Singlethought said.

"Aye, but the Snaggleblast will even things out some. Always seems to help keep the swelling at bay."

Singlethought header to the buckets, shaking his head and grinning. Crashing furniture and crockery behind him stopped him only a few feet from his table. He turned and saw his partner pinned to the table by four burly farmers. Before he had a chance to run to Grumblepot's aid, two humungous cauliflower hands clawed at him, pushing him to the ground and pinning him.

"Karl Grumblepot and Sammie Singlethought," a deep voice boomed. "You are under arrest by order of the Farmer's Guild of Junjun Shire, for the unlawful slaughter of Farmer Tekyo's pigs on this day, not more than two hours ago."

"Ah, but we can, Mr. Grumblepot," came the reply. "The Guild was given special powers by the Shire Council just this evening. The City Guard is short staffed, what with the war and all, so they are most willing to deputize any established guild to give a helping hand."

"We was given orders by the City Guard last week to kill all the livestock this side of the Forestry Forest. They are all diseased or something," Singlethought said.

"A likely story," said the deep voice, "We have reason to believe you are working for the Fishmonger's Guild to put the local animal farmers out of business, thus making the demand for seafood skyrocket as the only form of meat available."

Singlethought was just about to protest, when the burly farmers pining him crashed to the floor with harpoons sticking out of their guts. Within minutes a full on brawl started between fishmongers and farmers, pitchforks and harpoons clashed. Patrons either joined in the melee or escaped from the Blood Bucket through the nearest door, or window. The chef's and tavern staff joined in outraged at the wasted seafood from upturned buckets. In only twenty minutes no survivors stood unaided in the tavern, most would not stand again.

Singlethought and Grumblepot sat silently at their table, finishing their mead and licking their fingers, oblivious to the carnage of their surroundings.

"You know, Grumblepot," said his partner, "I reckon with the recent renovations, loss of staff and lack of competition, The Blood Bucket would probably sell for a steal."

"And we won't need that silver piece of yours," Grumblepot said, smiling at his friend, "or have to scrub the dishes to pay for the meal."

“Look,” Pete said, using a harsh whisper that reeked of insincerity, “I promise you this won’t hurt at all.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard, you...you...thief,” Ian Bottomsworth said. “It’s hurting my pocket every time I come in here.”

The customer browsing in the dried manticore and dragon section of Pete’s Priceless Potions, looked up briefly, then made his way out of the front door. From the look on the irate Bottomsworth face, the customer assumed things were going to get ugly pretty soon.

“Fair’s, fair, Mister,” Pete said, “I need to make a living, you know. If you want the remedy for that nasty skin irritation of yours, then you’ll have to pay for that.”

“But they’re made from my Brockelroots!” Ian yelled. “I sold them to you for two copper pieces.”

“Yes, yes, and I paid you fair and square, didn’t I. It costs time and money to make that lotion you know.”

Mr. Bottomsworth slammed the jar on the counter, rummaged through his coat pocket and pulled out a silver piece.

“It’s highway robbery. The only reason I have this rash is from growing those blasted things, you know.”

“If you knew that before I sold you the Brockelroot seeds, you most likely wouldn’t have grown them for me, now, would you?”

Mr. Bottomsworth snatched the bottle off the counter and stormed out of the store, almost knocking over the farmer walking into Pete’s Priceless Potions.

Trent hated his life; nothing ever seemed to go right for him. He worked for a right cow of a boss, who was so self centred she didn’t hear anything anyone said. She often went into hysterics over nothing, crying if she didn’t get what she wanted. How she became a manager was beyond Trent’s comprehension; although she did sleep with just about anything and drank like a fish. Her latest escapade was leading Trent on to think that he would get a promotion; well he did do nearly all of her work for her as she was often too drunk after her pub lunch to do anything herself. Trent was passed over for this promotion by someone external to the company that giggled like a little school girl every time she spoke.

Feeling depressed, Trent stopped in the City Botanical Gardens on the way to work, sat down on a park bench and cried. After a few minutes, he noticed a small, brown paper bag sitting on the park bench beside him. He didn’t recall seeing it when he sat down, but that was no surprise really. When he opened it and looked inside, he was astonished at what he found.

“No way,” he said to himself.

There were photos of his skanky boss buck naked and going for it with the CEO of the company. Trent looked around. There was no one else in the park, or at least no one that could have dropped the bag beside him and done a runner.

He rummaged through the bag and found a wad of one hundred dollar notes, wrapped in a pair of dirty panties. Trent counted the notes.

“Five thousand dollars, no way.”

He stood up, feeling a lot happier about going to work now. The thought of pinning the photos up on the notice board in the lunchroom crossed his mind. Now, he couldn’t wait to get to work.

“Maybe things are going to start going your way, Trenty boy.”

Trent felt a heavy weight hit him in the chest and knock him to the ground. A large, burly cop sat on his chest, grinning at him.

“You have the right to remain silent,” the cop began.

“What are you doing?”

“Black mail is a serious offence, son,” the cop said. “And I don’t like people who go snooping around, taking photos of what ladies do in the comfort of their own home.”

Trent looked at the bag on the ground. Its contents were scattered on the pavement. He saw a woman’s hand pick up the photos and couldn’t believe it. His boss was standing over him now, smiling.

“That’s him officer,” she said. “He has been angry at me ever since he missed getting a promotion.”

Trent looked at the officer, then at his boss. She winked at him and he knew that he had been set up.

“There is no time for arguments. This is the way we are going to run this caper.” Said the sign hung over the private bar of the Guild of Men at Arms.

"Nice motto, hey Ernie.” A large muscular Troll said to the bartender.

Ernie spat in a beer glass, wiped it out with his filthy apron and sat it back on the rack with the other clean glasses. He looked up at the pale, grey-skinned creature and said, “Stopped many a bar fight, that it has. Cyril.”

“I like bar fights,” said Cyril. “They keep me reflexes good.”

“Well I don’t like any sort of fights in my establishment,” Ernie replied in a sharp voice that could cut a suit of leather armor like butter. “Does nothing but kills and injures my customers and costs me an arm and a leg in tables and chairs.”

“But it must be good for business,” Cyril said. “I mean, you’d get lots of rich warriors and the like coming here to spend their treasures and have a bit of rough and tumble to let off steam.”

“Yes, well now we get only the members of the Guild in here, and they know how to behave. Nice and proper like, spending the same amount of money and not costing me a week’s earnings in furniture.”

Cyril chugged down another ale and tapped his forehead with a long, boney finger, then pointed at the sign.

“That’s right Cyril, if you want to keep your job earning a decent wage in my Guild; you have to remember who you can disagree with. Now, I’ve heard that old Sam Tunstell has opened a seedy bar across town in the red torch district. How about you have another couple of ales here with your friend Ernie, then go and test your reflexes in that bar.”

Cyril smiled, took the fresh foamy glass of ale from Ernie and said,”Cause, that’s the way we are going to run this caper, hey Ernie.”

“No, human... I am all orc. Ma was the handmaiden to the royal princess and dad was chief guard in the Red Skull Battalion.”

“Wha’ ya doin’ with ‘uman stuff in the attic then, hey?”

“Like I already told you, I found it when I was doing a spot of renovating. Why would I report it to the city guard if I was a human spy?”

P.C Gruelkracken tilted the torch forward so that the light from the blazing flame shone directly in the criminal’s eyes. He held his hand up to shield his eyes. Well he would have if they weren’t manacled to the stone floor of the interrogation room. As it was, all he managed to do was almost dislocate his shoulders and singe his eyebrows when he jerked forward.

While painting the house over Christmas I discovered audio books, in particular, Terry Pratchett Audio Books. Most of which, were read by Nigel Planer (Neil from the Young Ones). Over the two weeks I listened to 7 books, which made the painting go a lot quicker and less painful than it would have been.

As a consequence, I have become addicted to Terry's Discworld Novels. They are such a breath of fresh air, with the comedy and wit that you don't see in too many novels.

I was asked to edit my story, Zombie, Zombie, Zombie, Oi, Oi, Oi for it to be accepted for publication. Wanting to add more action and realisim to the story I decided to do a bit of research about zombies and came across this list of zombie movies. Didn't realise so many had been release.

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Here at The Fringe Magazine we publish Short Stories, Flash Fiction, Poetry in all genres and reviews of books, roleplay games, music and movies.

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